Sword of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  Her father turned to greet his visitors. "Your Grace," he said, facing the Earl of Shrewesdale.

  "Good to see you, Fitz," said the earl, "You know Lord Barrington, of course?"

  The men continued with their conversation, and Beverly listened intently while remaining in the background. Her father was trying to save Gerald, while the other two wanted someone to punish for the failure at Walpole Street. Her father was a persuasive man and could be forceful when needed. In the end, the Earl of Shrewesdale agreed to her father's plan, and Lord Barrington followed along reluctantly.

  The conversation finished, the earl turned to leave, placing his glass on the table.

  She saw Lord Barrington down his drink in a rush and hurry to catch up. He placed his glass absently on the table as he passed, and she saw it precariously balanced on the edge. She stepped forward just in time, catching it as it fell toward the floor. She placed it back on the table and closed the door, the distant sound of their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

  "That was neatly done, Father!" she exclaimed.

  "I wish I could have done more, but these are dangerous times and it’s best not to push the king’s confidence these days."

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We’ll have to wait a few days to see what develops; I think everything should go as planned but sometimes these people get strange ideas in their heads. Let’s meet in, say, three days? I’ll buy you lunch at the Queen’s Arms.”

  “Yes, I can meet with you then, but surely there is another tavern we can get together at, Father?

  “Excellent, I’ll see you there then. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some arrangements to attend to.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and walked out the door, completely ignoring her request for a different rendezvous spot. Damn, he would eat that cheese again, she just knew it

  “Feel free to take what’s left of the wine,” he said on the way out.

  She walked over to the table and looked at the bottle, recognizing it to be an expensive vintage from her uncle's winery. She took the bottle and poured herself a glass, then wandered over to the window. Her father spent a lot of time looking out windows. It reminded her of the map room back in Bodden, and she could picture him with his hands absently stroking his beard. How she missed Bodden.

  * * *

  Three days later Beverly found herself in the Queen’s Arms, her father sitting outside as she approached. He had a tankard of dark ale beside him, and the serving wench had just placed a plate down beside him on the table.

  “You look pleased with yourself!" she remarked.

  "Ahh, Beverly, my dear, so pleasant to see you. Come and try some of this delicious cheese." He placed a piece of the horrid stuff into his mouth, proclaiming, "A most excellent Hawksburg gold!"

  She sat down and, catching the girl's eye, indicated she wanted an ale. "I don't know how you can stand that, it smells awful!" she said, the smell of this cheese no better than the first time he brought her here.

  "I must admit that the taste far exceeds its smell!" His grin said he knew how bad it truly smelled, and he didn't care one whit.

  She waited patiently while the waitress brought the ale and then turned to him.

  "What news?" she prompted. "Has everything been arranged?"

  "Yes. Even as we speak, Gerald is en-route to the Royal Estate at Uxley, where he will take up the position of groundskeeper. We have kept him safe!"

  Beverly breathed a sigh of relief. She was worried that the constant plotting in the Palace would spell disaster for Gerald, but it looked like, for once, that it had turned out in their favour. She was just starting to relax when her father spoke again.

  "Now we just need to get you a position at court!" he said.

  “I had a position at court; it didn’t turn out very well,” she said defensively.

  “I don’t mean a position ‘in’ the court; I mean we need to find you a sponsor, someone you can serve.”

  “Have fun with that,” she said. “I’m not exactly popular at court right now.”

  “Don’t be so negative, my dear,” he said with a smile. “There’s bound to be someone looking for a knight of your calibre. Let me do some asking around on your behalf, discreetly of course.”

  “I’m sure that the marshal-general hates me enough to have poisoned the whole court against me,” she said bitterly.

  “Then we’ll look outside of court. There’s bound to be an earl or duke that is looking for knights,” he said. “The kingdom doesn’t exactly have a surplus of them. We’ll find you something worthwhile, something that gets you out of Wincaster.”

  Twenty-One

  Shrewesdale

  Spring 954 MC

  Beverly was outside in the sun rubbing down Lightning, enjoying the fresh spring air when she heard someone approaching. She looked up to see a man wearing a chainmail shirt, striding into the yard with a scroll of some type gripped in his hand. He stopped momentarily to talk to one of her men who pointed towards her. Beverly put down her brush as the newcomer walked across the yard.

  “Are you Captain Fitzwilliam?” the man asked.

  “I am,” she replied, smiling, “and who might you be, if I may ask?”

  “I am Captain Harlon Eldridge, the new commander of this company.”

  She was stunned. She knew the assignment was temporary but had expected more notice of her dismissal.

  “My orders,” the captain said, handing her the scroll.

  She untied the message and read through it. It was pretty standard stuff, and she saw Marshal-General Valmar’s seal at the bottom. The orders were clear; Captain Eldridge was to assume immediate command of the company.

  She took a breath to calm herself, “Congratulations, Captain,” she said, “you’re getting a fine company. Shall I introduce you to everyone?”

  Eldridge was taken aback, as if the concept of meeting the men was distasteful. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he said somewhat stiffly. “I can go over all that later.”

  “Shall I have someone gather your belongings? I assume you’ll want to move in right away?” she offered.

  Harlon's eyes widened, “Why on earth would I want to do that? I’ll be staying at my townhouse, not here. You can have the men carry your things if you'd like, I shouldn’t like to be seen as ungracious.”

  She was taken aback by the man’s tone. What had Valmar told him, she pondered?

  Captain Eldridge spoke again, “I understand you are to report to the knight’s barracks at the Palace immediately.”

  “Very well, I'll be on my way. I’ll just get Sergeant Gardner organized to deliver my belongings. Will you want to address the men at all?”

  “No, I’ll worry about all that later, I have a rather important meeting to attend. I trust your things will be removed promptly?”

  “I'm sure that by the time your meeting is over, my presence here will be completely erased,” she declared.

  “Then, good day to you, Captain Fitzwilliam.”

  * * *

  Packing did not take long, for she really didn’t have a lot. The sergeant arranged for her belongings to be taken to the knight’s barracks immediately. It was a sad occasion for her; all the men came to say goodbye and, despite their rough and tumble nature, she had grown fond of them. The feeling was mutual, as evidenced by the lack of dry eyes when she departed.

  She rode out of the yard on Lightning, wearing her armour. She was damned if Valmar was going to tell her not to wear it again. This time the trip down the Royal Promenade was certainly not as auspicious as her first, during her investiture. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to give up the order and return to Bodden; Father could find a position for her with the local garrison, of this she was sure.

  Arriving at the Palace, intending on continuing around the back to the barracks, she spied a carriage halted there. It bore the coat of arms of the Earl of Shrewesdale, and she watched with interest as she rode closer. The earl was evidently insid
e the Palace, based upon how relaxed the attendants were standing about. She had to move past them to go under the covered arch leading to the training yard in back. As she was about to ride by, the attendants all stood to attention, and there was a commotion in the doorway.

  The door opened and the Countess of Shrewesdale, Lady Catherine Montrose exited the building, followed by two ladies-in-waiting. Beverly paused, giving her the right of way. As the lady approached her carriage, she noticed the knight astride the massive horse.

  “Come here,” she beckoned, and Beverly dismounted, her horse standing still on her command.

  “My Lady,” she said, bowing.

  Lady Catherine was an imposing woman, although she was not overly tall, her grey hair and wrinkled countenance betrayed a lifetime of commanding respect. Rumour was that the earl had only married her for her title; her father had been the previous earl, and her older brother had died without issue. Her husband was a few years her junior and was notoriously free with the ladies.

  “You are Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam, are you not?” the woman enquired.

  “I am, my lady,” Beverly answered.

  “Am I to understand,” she continued, “that you are currently not, how should I put it, in service to a lord?”

  “That is correct, my lady. I have just left my last assignment.”

  “How would you feel about coming to Shrewesdale?” she asked.

  Beverly’s eyes went wide; this was most unexpected.

  “Shrewesdale, my lady?”

  “Yes, I have need of your services. Come to my city estate this afternoon,” she said, “and we’ll discuss it in more detail. I think you’ll find it to your liking. Feel free to wear the armour if you wish; I shouldn’t mind at all, in fact, it might prove to be useful. Shall we say at three?”

  “Yes, my lady, I shall be there promptly at three bells.”

  “Excellent, Hobson here will give you the address, I shall see you then.”

  With that, the Countess entered the carriage. Hobson handed her a note with the address on it, and then hopped up to the back of the carriage, which drove off quickly, leaving Beverly in a mild state of confusion. It appeared the day was about to get a lot more interesting.

  * * *

  She arrived promptly as the bells struck three and was escorted into a well-appointed room. Lady Catherine was sitting on a comfortable looking chair as a servant poured her some wine.

  “Come in, come in. Have a seat.”

  Beverly chose the large couch, careful that her armour did not damage it.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to see you?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, my lady,” Beverly said.

  “Let’s get straight to the point, shall we? As you are no doubt aware, I am an old woman. Being the Countess of Shrewesdale, I have the…distinction of being married to Lord George Montrose who, due to his marriage to me, became the Earl of Shrewesdale, following in my father's footsteps.”

  “Yes ma’am, I was aware of that,” said Beverly guardedly.

  “Well, what you are probably not aware of is the fact that my husband is a notorious womanizer and spendthrift. I daresay he’s gone through the family coffers in record time and wasted most of the funds that my father left to me.”

  “I see, my lady, but how does this concern me?”

  The countess smiled, “As the lady of the household, it is my prerogative to hire and fire staff, including guards. I have had it with my husband's abuse of the serving girls in the household. I want you to be in my service, sworn to serve me. Your duty will be to make sure that the women of the house are not, how shall we put it, corrupted by my husband's actions. Since you will be in my service and not his, he will have no jurisdiction over you. You shall have complete freedom to operate however you see fit, providing you can meet my conditions.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, “but won’t he just go outside of the household to obtain what he wants?”

  “Of course, my dear, but at least I shan’t have to be witness to his indiscretions. I am no fool; I know that he married me for my wealth, but I did my duty by my father and carried out his wishes. Isn’t that what a daughter is supposed to do?”

  “I suppose so,” Beverly agreed.

  “Tell me,” continued Lady Catherine, “have you been spoken for?”

  Beverly blushed, “I’m afraid my father has not made any arrangements for me, as of yet,” she said.

  The countess laughed, “That’s not what I meant. I meant have you taken service to another noble? I can’t take you into service if you’re already committed elsewhere.”

  “No ma’am, I’m afraid I’m out of favour at the moment.”

  “Excellent, then you’ll fit right in at Shrewesdale. I will be leaving Wincaster in a week’s time; I should like you to accompany us as our escort. Is that to your satisfaction?”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Beverly, smiling, “it will be my honour.”

  Lady Catherine insisted that she remain for a light meal, and they talked for more than an hour. She found that Lady Catherine was, despite her reputation to the contrary, a very warm and friendly person. By the time Beverly returned to the Palace, she was feeling much more positive about things. Perhaps, she thought, her luck was changing. A new city promised a new start, and she looked forward to serving her first noble sponsor.

  * * *

  The trip to Shrewesdale was lengthy, with more than two hundred miles to traverse to their destination. It took even longer than expected due to the Countess, who insisted on stopping at Burrstoke to admire the view of the Glowan Hills. They stayed for three days, during which their host, the Baronet of Burrstoke, Sir Walter Herbert, gave her ladyship a tour of the area. It was a most pleasant visit, and Beverly noted a hint of sadness in the Lady Catherine's eyes upon their departure. They continued on the road until Haverston, a town situated at the crossroads on the way to Shrewesdale. It was mainly a farming community, but with the many visitors who now stayed here on their way south, the number of inns was impressive. The stopover here was quick, for while there were lodgings to be had, there was nothing of interest in Haverston for a traveller. The road forked north, but they continued south, entering the Shrewesdale Hills which took their name from the fabled city. Shrewesdale was old, some said older than even Wincaster, and at one time it had been the cultural capital of the kingdom. In recent years, however, the great southern swamp, which extended for hundreds of miles to the sea, had been creeping ever closer, and now the city was only saved by the very hills they had just entered.

  The carriage jolted along the uneven road, with Beverly sitting inside, while Lightning trotted behind. The first sign that they were approaching the city was a strange smell that she detected. She wrinkled her nose and looked out the window to see the cause.

  The countess smiled, “Don’t worry,” she said, “after a while, you won’t even notice it anymore.”

  Beverly looked back at her. “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s the miasma, as they like to call it. It comes from the Great Swamp.”

  “It smells like something is rotting,” she said.

  “Yes, but after a few hours, you’ll learn to ignore it. We use a lot of scents in the manor house.”

  The carriage rounded a corner, and they got a glimpse of the great city itself.

  “Have you ever been to Shrewesdale?” the Countess asked.

  “No, but I’ve heard a lot about it.”

  “Most of it is probably true,” said Lady Catherine, “it is a very old city. I think you’ll find the architecture particularly unique.”

  Beverly could make out the city gate looming large before them as she looked out the window. It was flanked by the massive towers that dwarfed the carriage in comparison. The Countess was evidently recognized, for they passed through the gate without delay. The city reminded her of Wincaster, but the stonework here was rather ornate, with more brick and less wood than the capital. Peopl
e waved as they made their way through the town. The Countess, it seemed, was held in high esteem here.

  The estate was located in the very middle of the city, surrounded by rich gardens. It was smaller than the Palace, but the grounds around it were far more grandiose. The carriage pulled up in front of the entrance, where an army of servants descended upon them. Beverly insisted on taking care of Lightning herself. The stable master guided her to the estate's stables, which she found to be in excellent shape. She introduced herself to the friendly stable hands while tending to her horse's needs, and then she made her way to the manor house itself.

  The countess arranged for Grenville, the estate steward, to give her a tour of the house, and the sheer size of it was overwhelming. The rooms here were larger than the Palace, though there were not as many. Her quarters were on the third floor of the manor house, not in the barracks, which surprised and delighted her. In the morning she would meet with the Countess to learn what her duties would be, giving her the rest of the day to unpack and learn the layout of the house. At the end of the tour, Grenville asked her if she could read a map. She almost laughed out loud and then realized the poor man was serious. “Yes,” she replied, “I know how to read a map.”

  He provided her with a floor plan so that she could find her way about the estate, freeing him up for other duties. Returning to her room, she walked around it, enjoying the sheer size, for it was even larger than her room in Bodden. She knew she should feel a little guilty taking pleasure in it, but after living in barracks for so long, she resolved to appreciate the change. It was opulently decorated with the finest of furnishings and felt more like a house than a room. Her belongings, such as they were, had been delivered and she took time to unpack them herself, despite the offer from a housemaid to assist.

  Wearing her armour might be a bit too much inside the manor house, so she changed into a simple dress and made her way down to the kitchen. She decided to take a private tour to familiarize herself with her new surroundings and hoped that the less formal clothing she had chosen would help her to blend in. The kitchen was the logical place to start, and upon entering, she saw a full staff, perhaps two dozen people, hard at work. A young man was standing to one side watching, a knight judging by his superior clothing, and he delighted in pinching the women as they moved past him. She resolved not to say anything but made a careful note of his features while avoiding his direct gaze. One of the pinched maids walked near her, and she stopped the girl with her upheld hand.